Seasons
by cornwallace
Summary: Will you love me any less; if I hurt you any more?
1. Summer

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****I... ...****I  
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* * *

Oh, fuck.

What have I done? What in god's name have I done?

Okay, calm down, Sonic. Gather your thoughts. Settle. You need to get yourself out of this some how.

Oh shit….

How the fu

* * *

ck did I get here?

Couldn't say when it started. Wouldn't even begin to be able to tell you. It's always been like this.

Have you ever had someone ridiculously young hit on you?

I met her when she was thirteen. Amy Rose.

The definition of fan girl.

At eighteen years of age, this thirteen year old little girl is hitting on me, and she isn't trying to be subtle. Not in the slightest.

In fact, she was being very blunt. She wanted me.

Sexually. No shit.

What do you say to that? How do you react correctly? I pushed her away, of course.

She was attractive, even then. She could have had anyone in her generation, but no. She wanted me. Five years older. An illegal relationship. Refusal was the only option.

I noticed her drinking habits develop at an early age.

Didn't say anything to her about it, but I knew. Couldn't. Did the same shit, you know?

But I was concerned. Couldn't help it.

Can't tell you why. No idea, myself.

It wasn't a big thing for her, though. So it didn't bother me too much.

So I ignored it. Only now does it seem like I shouldn't have. Maybe things might have turned out differently.

Maybe things would have been good. But weren't they good? Once?

I'm getting ahead of myself. Slow down, Sonic.

Or maybe I'm not. Maybe I should just fill you in quickly. For the sake of story.

At the age of twenty-two, Amy and I parted ways forever. She was moving to the city, with her parents. Robotnik had fallen by my hand, and Mobotropolis was being restored. Knothole; left behind. A relic. I had to go gather up other colonies; let them know the war was over and bring them in. Help them, if necessary.

I didn't much care at that point and time, or at least I told myself I didn't. About Amy, I mean. Looking back though, it tore me up. My attraction to an underage girl couldn't exactly go public.

Fuck. I didn't even want to think about it, but it couldn't be helped. Have you ever absolutely hated yourself after jerking off? This is what it was what it was like for me every time.

These were hard times. Sometimes it started when I did; the self-hatred. Jerking off, while thinking about two things. Seventeen year old tits, and how pathetic I really am. Was.

Okay, okay. Am.

It took me about a year to get over that nonsense. Finally got to the point where she wasn't even on my mind. Jerking off was easier on me. Life was simple.

I didn't really have time for relationships, so sex wasn't attained… at all.

Just me and my ungloved hand. My most personal friend.

A virgin at the age of twenty-three. Lost my virginity to a whore, one drunken lonely night. Sad, but true. What have I to hide at this point? Nothing.

Words can't describe how pathetic and low I truly am. How utterly lame and grotesque in all ways.

At this point in my life I had moved back to the city. Depression kicks in. I'm drinking my weight in in alcohol every night.

Every day.

Every morning.

I can't be the only one. Can you relate?

No?

Fuck it.

It was later decided by the age of twenty-five that the problem wasn't with my agenda. That shit was open.

It was with my people skills, or lack there of, as they had deteriorated over the years entirely. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know how they work. Even now, writing this here on this crumpled paper, I don't know. People are fucking greek to me.

Couldn't quite describe them, you know?

I need another drink.

Where was I? Twenty-five? Truth be told, that whole forever nonsense was just that; nonsense. Lies. I lied to you. The paths of Amy and I crossed once more. Wouldn't you know it, she worked at a titty bar. And she wasn't a bartender. Hah. What the fuck was I thinking?

This was an extremely long time ago, so allow me to be only as descriptive as my cloudy memory allows.

Upon entry, the first thing that catches my eye is the bar. Make my way over to it. Order a screwdriver, a double-whiskey and a beer.

"Are you expecting company, or something?"

"What? No."

She stares at me oddly for a minute before fetching my drinks. When they arrive, it takes me less than a second to down the double whiskey, and about six to chug the beer. Knock the glass bottle down hard on the bar, and reach into my wallet

Take out a few bills and some extra coins and toss them into the empty whiskey glass.

Then I said something like keep the change, grabbed the screwdriver, and walked off. Taking a sip, admiring the view(tits). Suddenly, pink catches my eye. A large pink light, shining down on a gorgeous young hedgehog. The light changes colors, as she grinds the center-stage pole.

Making my way over, I grab the closest seat available, and watch the woman dance for a while. Couldn't exactly tell you when recognition kicked in. Wouldn't exactly be able to say when the possibility that I might know this person even crossed my mind.

It might have been when they changed the lights, but she left me mesmerized regardless.

It couldn't be put into words, the way she made me feel. Even some badass poet, or some shit like that couldn't articulate it. I'd like to see them try.

I wanted to be one with her. Physically and spiritually. (sex)

Tipped her a twenty, and winked at her. As she reached for it, she suddenly stopped. A shocked look on her face. Eyebrows raised as high as the go, eyes wide as they can be. Mouth slightly agape.

It slowly forms a smirk.

She suddenly snatches the money and keeps dancing. Take a hit of the screwdriver, and lean back. This place closes at one, so I'll be here a while.

**

* * *

****Summer**

* * *

Waited outside for her. Must have been forty-five minutes before she came walking out in a skimpy dress. One piece, it was black and it showed her stomach. The only cloth across her front was covering her tits. A tight, short skirt, not inches below her panty line. Didn't have to say a thing. When she saw me, she ran right for me. Throwing her arms around me and squeezing tightly. A squeal emits from her muffled mouth, buried deep in my chest.

I asked her if she wanted a drink, and she asked where we would go. Told her I knew a place that stayed open until two-thirty. After that, we got drinks and caught up. I bought her a drink, and she bought me one with the tip money she had between her tits. For the first time ever, Amy wasn't this awkward to be around fan girl. She was no longer some annoying little guilty jerk-off fantasy. She was now a woman.

Like a sophisticated woman that's been hiding from me for years.

Two-thirty rolls around. "Where will I go?" she asks.

Don't worry, I tell her. I know a place that's open all night.

Took her to my place. Sex was had that night, for the first time ever without money involved. She didn't know that then, though. She still doesn't know, to this day.

We started spending our days together, drinking. Amy had just quit her job, and was living at her parents' house. I told her she could come stay with me if she wanted. No twenty year old should live that their mom and dad's house.

We'd sleep in late. It was a hot summer in an apartment with no air conditioning. Fans blowing hot air at us from all different directions. One or two rolls around and we would get up and share a cigarette. Fix ourselves drinks. Maybe some sex on top of the bed spread, the fleshy, sweating targets of the ridiculously hot breeze. Our moans echoing, bouncing back at us off the paper thin walls. People banging on them, telling us to shut up. We didn't care. We were in our own little world. Living our own fantasies out onto one another. Staking claim on one another as a spiritual and physical extension of ourselves. This is the definition of unity, I think.

We would relocate a few of the fans into the bathroom, where we would sit in the small tub, the water rippling from the fan air, the door wide open. The only light would come from the doorway. Sometimes the flicker of a sparked lighter. The glow of a cigarette cherry. Next to the tub; two lighters, two packs of cigarettes, a bottle of wine and two glasses.

We wouldn't say anything. Just comfortably sit in this tub, legs tangled around one another, pulling us in close in the cramped tub. Staring into one another's silhouette, and feeling completely satisfied for the first time ever. I said it once before. Times were good at one point. Shit was great, even.

It feels a bit strange looking back on these times as the best of my life. Laying around, doing nothing in silence with a woman I thought I had figured out. Or maybe it just didn't occur to me. Maybe it felt as though it wasn't necessary to understand. Maybe we were just losing ourselves in endless hours of wasted moments. Eating, sleeping, drinking, fucking, smoking our boredom away. Exploring nothing but each other.

Life at its finest. No worries. No concerns.

No problems.

But that shit doesn't last forever.

It can't. It simply can't.

* * *

She's upside down; or is that me?

Hovering over the porcelain bowl, her arms supporting her. Hands on the toilet seat. Where our bare asses go. She practically hurls her own insides into the bowl, before resting her head on the toilet seat. Both arms wrapped around her cranium, she turns into a gagging, belching mess. Hand weakly slides up the tank of the toilet as she blindly fumbles for the lever. Fingers wrap shakily around it, and the loud flushing sound makes my headache suddenly apparent.

Why am I on the floor?

Fuck….

Amy?

A muffled "yeah?" squeaks out from the bathroom, the door completely ajar. Roll over, and attempt to pick myself up. It takes two tries. My back is fucked up. Yeah, that's my excuse. Kneeling, supporting my weight on one leg and one arm, and push myself to spring up. My heads swimming. Head rush. Can't see. Stumble backwards onto the bad. falling all the way back, legs hanging off the end of the bed at the knee.

My vision slowly dissolves back into place.

"Are you alright?"

She starts gagging again, and spit's a shit load of times into the toilet bowl before answering. Lifting her head up weakly, she forces out a "Yeah.. no. I don't…"

Get up, to go help her up. Upon close inspection, she has vomit drool stringing from the toilet seat to the left corner of her lip. Her left. My right. Grab a sheet of toilet paper off the end of the roll sitting on its side on top of the tank. Yank it downward to tear a sheet off, the toilet roll falls and unravels. Frustrated, I rip the sheet off, and wipe the corner of her mouth, and the seat. Flicking the damp wad into the bowl and flushing the toilet, I use my right arm to support her while she vainly attempts to rise.

Supporting her with my body, she can stand. We go back to bed and lay down.

I'd like to know what time it is, but she keeps changing the fucking times on them. Something stupid about being on time. Thinks if she looks at the clock, and sees it's thirty minutes later than it's supposed to be, she'll rush wherever she's supposed to be, and get there on time. Is this logical in the slightest? No.

After you've been around someone long enough, little shit starts to bother you. You start to hate their little habits and nervous ticks. You start to hate the way they word things, or say something. You hate the looks they give you. You start to get the notion that this will never stop. It won't get any better, it just gets worse. More and more irritating. More and more unbearable.

But it's at these same times you need one another most.

Sonic.." she's crying and sniffling.

Aw, shit. Dreading a response already, I say something like yes?

"I need to tell you something."

What is it?

She turned away; rolled over. Snorting, and wiping her nose with her arm, she says the words that I can't seem to get out of my head. To this day, they still happen. If it weren't for these words, things might have turned out differently.

"I took a pregnancy test." she said "I tested positive."

Oh fuck.

"I'm pregnant."

So I say something like well, uhh, what do you want to do with it?

And she says "What do you mean?"

So, choosing my words as carefully as possible to inquire whether or not she plans on "terminating" it.

She doesn't like this. Not at all. She turns.

"You want me to _WHAT!?_ How could you? How the fuck could you?"

Dumbfounded, I stutter.

"Do you know how many lives are lost every day? Not just the poor defenseless baby, Sonic!"

She starts slapping me on the sides and chest.

"Women die every day from getting abortions, you asshole!"

She's borderline hysterical. Shut the fuck up, I say. We can settle this quietly.

"I WON'T SHUT UP!"

Look, I'm fucking sorry, okay? I'm sorry!

"No you aren't! If you were truly sorry than you wouldn't have said anything!"

Trying to reason with her, and let her know that she isn't making sense. Her screaming and hitting makes it apparent that team Sonic is fighting a losing battle.

Sigh.

So, what are you going to do?

She just glares at me. Glares at me and breathes loudly.

* * *

Summer is coming to its close. It was fun while it lasted, but now there's this ever present fog of dread that we seem to be sitting stagnant in.

It was dinner at Amy's house. Her parents, rather.

This was a hard day for all of us. Only difference between Amy and I, and her parents, was that we knew what was coming. We could smell the shit storm over the horizon, and though we couldn't do anything to prevent it, we could brace for it.

Not entirely sure whether or not it's better this way. Try not to think about it. Try to think about other things on the way over to this place.

Every minute longer that we sit in this bunch, ripe with the stench of piss, my mood deteriorates even more. Gives me the urge to want to hurt or maim something. Smother the life out of it with my hands. No idea why I'm so tense. Grab the flask from her purse and take a drink.

"Hey," she says, nudging my arm and holding her hand out "give me a hit."

Handing over the whiskey, I fish out a fresh pack of cancers. Tearing away the cellophane with two easy movements, I pop open the hard top, and rip off the paper. Removing a fag from the box, and stuffing it into the corner of my mouth, I sigh, leaning back, as the pack is limply deposited back into her purse.

"You know you can't smoke that on here right?"

Sigh.

I'm not fucking stupid, Amy.

"I didn't say you were!"

Don't imply it.

"What the fuck is your problem?"

Nothing, Amy. Nothing at all. Why would you ask?

She doesn't respond. We sit in silence for the remainder of the ride.

Step off the bus. Cup my hand around the end of the cigarette and the lighter in my right hand, to shield it from the wind. It takes a couple times to strike. Spark the end of the white stick and I'm good. Calm. Breathe.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

A nice long sigh, and we're moving again.

Two blocks, and we arrive at our destination. Standing at the doorway, I've never missed a bus so much.

Amy rings the bell, and after a few moments the door opens.

"Hello!"

* * *

Nothing was said over dinner. Well, nothing about our child, at least. Plenty of talk about stupid, pointless shit. Her parents wanted my whole life story. They would keep asking me what I had done with myself over the years. Respond with a nothing really, or not a lot, and it's only about ten minutes before they ask me again.

After bringing all of the colonies here, I just kind of settled down.

This satisfies them. For now.

After dinner is finished, we're asked if we want dessert. We decline.

Amy tells them there's something we need to say. Something she thinks they should know about. Her mother's eyes widen immediately. Leaning over to grab a messy plate, she freezes. Her head cocks towards Amy.

"You aren't getting married already, are you?"

Cringe.

"No. It isn't that."

"Thank god. What is it, hon?"

"I'm pregnant."

She freezes again. Even the father's face is frozen in shock.

"You're kidding."

Amy looks down, away from their gaze. Follow suit.

"No."

"You're not having it, are you?"

"Of course I am!"

Look up to see her standing. The back of her legs knock the chair back, slightly.

"Amy, you can't! You're twenty, you have your whole life in front of you!"

"You're not even married!" the father chimes in.

It's at this point I start to wonder why she couldn't make this trip alone. Don't think my presence was necessary for this over dramatic bullshit.

"I can't kill it!"

"So you're giving it away?"

Amy just looks down. She just couldn't do that. And she damn sure couldn't explain it to people as stubborn as her parents.

So, without getting either one of her parent's blessing, we started to plan for the infant on the way.

The mewling cabbage. The fucking permanent buzz kill.

Ugh. I hate children. Despise them.

Loathe, even.

* * *

This chapter was partially inspired by the writings of the late Bill Hicks.

_Thoughts on love and smoking_ specifically. From the book **Love all the people**.

Read it. Read it right away.


	2. Autumn

Before you know it, everything's dying.**

* * *

**

**A  
****u  
****t  
****u  
****m  
****n**

* * *

The leaves have dried up, turned strange colors and fallen already. Dead.

You wouldn't know it from the city, though. Not if you had been born here. The forest has been abandoned almost entirely, except for the occasional hikers. And the woodland critters, of course.

Night came early, as it always does during fall. Sometimes at night the sounds of loud obnoxious cars and screaming, loud music and parties invade my ears. Makes me think about how lucky we were to only have the chirping of crickets. The hooting of owls. The rhythm tic sounds that you get used to after a while. All replaced with noisy buses. Honking horns. Loud, new age music.

Even if it were completely silent, sleep wouldn't be easy at this point in my life. There's too much on my mind. Too much to think about. A child. My curse has already made a stain on this planet. It was only a short matter of time before it got bigger and multiplied.

Never once in my life was a child ever desired. Ever.

And now I'm fucking stuck with the little brat. The water headed little brat. As soon as he come out, its entire existence will consist of crying, shitting, pissing and puking. Its sole purpose will be to suck the money, life and happiness from me, to leave me to wither away a shit stained mess.

Didn't want to end up like this. Practically shitting myself.

How could things end up like this?

This was never wanted. This was never imagined. Something keeps telling me to push her down the stairs and call it an accident. Grind up the morning after pills into a strong screwdriver, and send it down the hatch. Kill it.

Kill the little monster.

Thinking back, it can't be decided whether or not the sex was worth it. Maybe I should have just fucked her that one night, and moved on. The pathetic mess of a person that is me isn't fit to raise a child.

But it's set in stone now. Nothing can be changed.

Maurice and Amy are slaves now. Their captor; a mewling little shit that disregards its own waste.

No. There is no room for sleep when the only thing you can think about is how miserable you will be for the rest of the entire span of your life.

I need a cigarette. Fumbling with the pack that's kept on the nightstand. Remove a single cigarette. Snatch the lighter, and decide it's about time for a drink. Shit, might as well.

Get up. Come on you lazy shit, get up. That's it, now let's see if we can't conjure up a beverage.

"Sonic?" A confused Amy calls with a yawning voice from the darkness behind me.

Yeah?

"Where are you going?"

Can't sleep. Getting a drink and having a smoke.

"Come back to bed, Sonic."

Just keep walking. Pretend you didn't hear that. She'll probably just pass back out anyway.

Lighting the cigarette, and groping the wall for the light switch. The kitchen is suddenly illuminated. Make my way over to the large collection of alcohol bottles. Fuck a glass. Grab an entire bottle of wine. Stride over to the table, and sit in the pulled out seat closest to the ash tray. Hold the cancer over the glass tray, and gently tap the side of the stick with my index finger. A large piece of ash falls, landing and crumbling in the pile.

Exhale. Uncork the bottle. Bring the neck to my mouth, and turn that shit upside down.

* * *

Fishing out an orange plastic bottle from her purse, she twists off the cap with little effort. She taps the mouth of the bottle against the bottom of the lid, and two football shaped pills come out. She knocks them back with the remains of a light beer. It's second nature by this point. A second nature that I didn't even notice.

What are those?

"Antidepressants"

The bottle doesn't have a label. It's been torn off.

Just like Amy. Always picking at things.

Isn't it bad to take pills with medicine?

She sighs, and starts chuckling.

"You know why they tell you that, Sonic?"

Why would that be?

"It gets you more fucked up."

Right. Can I have one?

"Fuck no! I need these."

Right. Sorry.

She digs in her purse for a little while before directing her attention at me.

"I'm out of cigarettes. Can I have one?"

I only have one left.

"We could split it."

Uh.. okay.

A moment.

"Give it to me."

I don't want to smoke it just yet.

"Just give it to me, Sonic. We'll go to the god damn store later, okay? Just chill out and give me the fucking cigarette."

Sigh and hand it over. She lights it, and stands up.

"I'm going to go mix a drink."

Don't you think you should cut back on that?

"What? Smoking?"

Yeah. Well, I was referring to drinking, but yeah. That, too. For the baby.

"God, Sonic. It'll be fine, okay? Fucking chill out. Plenty of people do it, and their children are fine. Stop being such a hypocrite, okay? Stop being such a little bitch."

She exit's the room. A moment or two goes by. The only thing that comes to mind is the fact that she has my cigarette. Get up, and following her into the kitchen, I ask for my cigarette back. She hands it to me, and I'm hitting filter.

God damn it.

Put out the butt, and ask her when we're going to the store. She tells me, whenever I feel like, and she asks me to pick up a carton of cigarettes and a box of expensive wine.

Fucking bitch.

* * *

Upon return home, the smell of food is strong within the apartment. Getting excited, I ask what's for dinner. She hasn't cooked in ages, and her food is awesome.

"Did you get the cigarettes?"

Yeah.

"And the wine?"

Yes.

"Give me a pack."

Set the sacks down on the table, and fish out the carton. Open it, and remove a pack, limply tossing it to her.

"Now put the wine in the fridge."

And she starts to walk off. Ask her again, what's for dinner? What did you cook for us?

"Whatever you want to cook. I'm feeding two now."

She disappears into the bedroom. This shit sucks. It's almost worse than being alone. She starts bitching at me from the bedroom.

"You expect me to do EVERYTHING!….. Never cook ME food…. Always drinking all the beer and smoking up all the cigarettes…. You never take me anywhere nice!…"

The door slams, and an incoherent scream emits from the other side of the door.

I need a drink. Far too damn sober for this shit.

* * *

She's only cute when she's sleeping. Her eyes closed, and her mouth slightly open. That stereotype cartoon snore, the only sound emanating from her being.

It makes me think of her moments. Moments of purity. Moments of beauty. Specific instances where she caught my eye. Made me feel whole. Inspired me with her beauty.

Thinking back on all these random flashing images in my head of the previous summer, and even summers passed. It's hard not to blame her for everything. It's hard not to resent that face of hers. Her beauty. The fucking siren, she is. Calls me in with her gorgeous voice. Pulls me in close with her beauty. Sticks the knife in. Traps me out in this sea of madness with her.

My wings have been torn to shreds. A brutal form of clipping. Crippling. Gimping.

All the while it seems to just get worse and worse. Think of it like a hot tub, or bath. You get in at first, and it's pleasant. Someone turns the heat up, and it makes you uncomfortable. Scalding water, turning your skin red. Stick it out, you'll get used to it. Right when you do, the bitch turns the heat up again, slowly driving me to madness in torment before boiling me alive. Melting my organs and turning my skin into wet tissue paper. It breaks and melts away like butter. Sonic stew.

This is all that comes to mind.

What if I ran away? Or smothered her in her sleep? Just ended it? It would only make sense. It might even set me free. Fuck the city, I could go find Knothole. Rebuild. I can still hunt maybe. Come back for beer and smokes on occasion. Do it incognito. Glasses and trench coat. That old jazz. I'll be the guy you see waltzing out of a sex shop, or liquor store. Tilting his hat down, and pushing his glasses up his nose. The one that looks like he's going to pull open his trench coat and show you his cock.

Grimace. This is what I've become. Fantasizing about being a degenerate.

Look over at the sleeping Amy, snoring away. Not a worry in her head, as she disconnects from reality. Am I angry with you, or am I angry with myself?

The only thing that is certain is the anger.

* * *

It's getting colder.

"Shut the fucking window."

Could you ask me politely for once, Amy?

"Fuck you, Sonic. I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had to harbor around a little infant in your stomach, too. Why don't I just eat your fucking pussy for you, you fat bitch?"

Okay, I say. Okay. Enough.

Get up and shut the door. Flip the little latch at the top with my thumb, and lock the window.

"You aren't a real man" she states bluntly. "What happened? Cut your balls off and stuff them up your ass?"

Ignore this comment. Light a cigarette.

"Or did you eat them, you fat fuck? Look at you. Lazy piece of shit. Just because you've forced us into this relationship does not mean I'm going to stand and watch you let yourself go."

That's enough, Amy. That's quite enough.

She's taking more antidepressants. Washing them down with straight vodka.

Smart, mommy. Real smart.

"Fuck you, you fat hypocrite. I need these to deal with the shit that you put me through."

All that I put you through?

"Fucking right! After a few more months of suffering, I have to squeeze out an infant bigger than a bowling ball. All you had to squeeze out was your fucking nut."

Calm down, I say. Just calm down, alright?

"Easy for you to say. You just sit there in your fucking tower, high above me, talking down to me like I'm some inferior being! Watching me suffer!"

What the fuck are you talking about?

"You wouldn't know, would you? Because you never fucking listen to me."

Oh, I listen. You just don't make any sense, because your shit-faced drunk and popping pills. You aren't even paying attention to what you're saying.

"I need those, you asshole! Those a prescribed."

She shows me the bottle with the torn off label. Rattling the little footballs inside.

Yeah, I say. Whatever. You're right. You always are.

"Don't you fucking condescend me, you fucking loser."

Loser. Right. And who's teat are you suckling from?

She doesn't say a word. She just stares at me. Uh-oh. I pissed her off.

Whatever.

Staring at my hands. Lighting a cigarette. She snorts. Inhale. Spit hits me in the face. Not just spit. Snot. She hawked a fucking loogey an spit it on me.

My fists tighten.

Before anything registers, my fist is already flying through the air. Cracking her in the jaw with all the strength of my left hook, she it's the deck. I can feel my eyes widening in shock.

Oh fuck. What did I just do?

How did I get here?

My weight already on top of her, pushing her down against the rough carpeted floor that muffles her crying and screaming.

Tell her if she doesn't shut the fuck up, it might just drive me to killing her. That seems to work.

Wipe the spit off. Get off.

Exit, door left. I need a fucking drink.

* * *

We stopped talking to each other for a while after that. Things were silent. We just lived amongst each other, and ignored it. Almost like it never happened. But it did, so we don't say anything. To avoid it.

I'm not sure I handled that correctly. Can't seem to tell who I am anymore. When did this happen? The becoming?

Tired. Confused. In a drunken, pissed off haze. Been throwing up a lot. Drink too much, puke it out. Have another drink.

Repeat.

Fall is gloom. A foreshadowing of the winter ahead, I would imagine.

Strange how feelings coordinate with weather, sometimes. Looking at the window, not really out. My reflection can be seen in the dim light of my room. It's the first glimpse I've gotten of myself in a very long time.

It feels weird. It doesn't look like me.

She was right. Sonic is getting fatter. Sonic's letting himself go.

Sonic. The shell over Maurice. Or is Maurice the shell? Perhaps it's all hallow.

Perhaps.

_It __feels_ empty. Like it did before.

Boredom? Dissatisfaction? Is life just a cycle of unhappiness with short spans of acceptance sprinkled randomly in between? Looking back, it can't be certain we were ever happy. Probably just content.

Something's preventing us, now. From settling. Unsatisfied and empty, we take it out on one another. Both angry at the other, for no longer doing the trick. Completion. Unity.

We can't figure it out, and it pisses us off.

Or maybe I'm just shit-faced rambling. We should probably go with that.

* * *

She came home crying that day. That day, etched into my memory forever. Burned, even. It was the thirtieth of November. She came in crying.

The question had been surfacing in my mind for a long time by this point. Why were we still together? We hated each other. She didn't want me. My presence was no longer welcome at her doctor's visits and so on.

It's like it wasn't even my kid. Not like it matters, though. Still stuck with it. But why?

But this day she had come in crying. She had been at the doctor's office all day. She went directly for the bottles. Ran right for them, snagging the bottle of vodka, cracking and twisting the fresh cap off. Slamming the bottle down, vodka spill from the top. I ask what's wrong, and it goes ignored.

She frantically fishes out her bottle with the torn label, and pours the remainder of pills into her hands. Looks like three or four. She takes them with about three shots of vodka, straight from the bottle.

Throwing the bottle away, she proceeds to fish out another bottle. Opening it, she takes out another one and dry swallows it.

You got a refill?

"Don't worry about it."

Before your bottle was empty?

"_Don't worry about it."_

You really need to slow down on that shit, honey. You're going to kill the baby.

"There is no baby."

What?

"I said there is no fucking baby! Are you deaf?!"

What the hell do you mean by that?

"I passed it."

But it's too early.

"No shit, dumbass. It was a miscarriage."

Oh god. Oh shit, honey. I'm so sorry.

Come in close to hug her, but she pushes me away.

Back away. Light a cancer. The slow death that calms my nerves.

This is too much. This is all too much.

"You did it!" she accuses, pointing at me. "You killed him!"

What? _Me?_

"Yes, you! You hit me, and you killed our baby."

Sigh. I hit you in the face, you stupid cunt. The baby is located a bit lower. _You_ fucking killed it, because you're to worthless to consider your own child's well-being.

She starts hitting me and pushing me. Tell her to get out of the way. She doesn't respond. She grabs me on my way towards the door. Not letting go, or dying down, I push her against the wall, and put my cigarette out on her arm. Push her to the side, and flick the dead cigarette but in her general direction. Opening the door, leaving her behind crying and screaming. Slamming the door on a muffled "SONIC!"

And I'm out.

I don't need this shit.

* * *

Get me another double, I say.

Throw in a please shortly after. For courtesy, and shit.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

No, I say. I'm an alcoholic. You couldn't give me enough if you tried.

Smile at him.

"I can't serve you anymore, sir. I'm sorry."

Aw, come on, man. Do you think drinking is the worst that could happen to me?

He looks at me.

"What do you mean?"

Shit, my life? An alcohol induced death would be pretty welcome at this point.

He stares at me a minute.

"Aint you Sonic the hedgehog?"

No, actually. Get that all the time, though.

"Bullshit. You're him, aint you?"

Name's Maurice, sir.

Whip out my ID and show him.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Maurice."

He pours another double, sliding it my way. Pluck it from the bar and down it in one easy sip. Spin around on the stool.

"Now get the fuck out of my bar."

Alright. Better head home…

* * *

This particular chapter is dedicated to a very good friend of mine, who knows who they are. If they ever read this, that is.


	3. Winter

It's getting colder.

Look at my watch. Four A.M. The letters are blurry, and barely legible.

Fuckin' digitals.

After service was refused at the first bar, I meandered on to a second one, which rejected me entirely. Making my to a third one, which got me substantially hammered, it was then finally decided that maybe an apology was owed to Amy, and that just maybe it was time to reconcile, and tell her how sorry I am and how much I love her, and how much she means to me, how much I love her… did we go over that one?

My mind is slipping, and my feet are stumbling. It isn't easy to function properly under all these conditions. The cold. The drink. The distraction.

I blame society.

Using a brick wall to support me, gravity loses its meaning.

Slip, and down we go. Into the cold, dark wet street. My hands and knees are looking out for me; catching me just at the right time. My stomach, however, is revolting against me. Clear liquid runs from my gut to the back of my throat, burning with the stomach acids, it all comes spewing out. Clear liquid specked with beer nuts. The sight alone is enough to hurl again. After emptying myself, after a couple sessions of painful gagging without result, it is decided that I feel a bit better, and my journey continues.

* * *

Insert the key into its designated slot before turning left.

They key stops short. The door isn't locked. Twist the key back and remove. Turn the knob and push the door open. Step through the door. My heart is pounding. Racing, even. Why am I so nervous?

Amy?

Close the door behind me. The lights are on in the living area and the kitchen. It's dead quiet. The Tv is on. Looking through the bar, the kitchen is empty. Refrigerator door open. Walk over. Freezer is open, too.

Fuck.

Bottles are gone. Damn near all of them.

At least, all the expensive ones. She left me shit. Close the fridge and make my way back into the living area. I don't even need to go into the bedroom to see her suitcase gone, and my shit thrown around. I don't need any further proof that she isn't here, and no longer loves me.

Fall back. The world spins and stops.

Our ties were severed. It was the baby, holding us together. Or was the baby what destroyed us? Did we both die a little bit with that child, if that child was a part of both of us?

Contact.

Shockwaves through my back force all of the air in my chest out at once.

Everything goes dim.

* * *

**Winter**

* * *

The light is creeping across my face. But it isn't warm.

In fact, it's getting colder.

Roll over to my left side, and use my right hand to aide my knees in erecting myself. Every joint aches like you couldn't possibly imagine. My walk is more of a hobble as I make my way across the living area, every step contributing to my pounding headache.

Like every morning, I race for the bottle. Only difference is, this time it was for piece of mind. To see that she really isn't here. And she isn't.

She isn't here. She's gone. Left. Probably not ever coming back.

I'm not fucking crying.

I need a drink.

* * *

It's been a few days, and it makes sense now. She isn't coming back. Before there was that whole "she might come around" thing, but now I think the only thing she might send are police officers. To take me in.

So I don't frequent the house much anymore. It's mostly bars now. Talk to people sometimes. Not much. Don't exactly go looking for a conversation, you know? They just kind of find me. Someone might approach with a "Hey, aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?" to which I respond with fuck off! Sonic's dead.

It seems to work most of the time. You usually get a "Hey, you don't have to be an asshole, pal. I was just curious." Yeah? Well I was just drinking, and you broke my concentration. Fuck off.

Some bitching. Ignore it. It will go away.

That's usually how it goes. Not this time.

Nope.

Another double, I say.

Some stalky drunk piece of shit taps me on the shoulder. Grabbing my drink, and turning around he says "Aint you Sonic? The famous hedgehog?"

Fuck off, mutt. Sonic's a legend. History, understand?

"No need to get racial, spiny fucking rat. You trying to start something?"

I'm trying to get you off my nuts, you fat stupid bulldog. Fucking mutt.

Sip my drink. That's when he knocks it into my jaw, the glass falls and shatters. Spit out teeth and blood as whiskey splashes my leg. A left hook meets my eye. The force jerks my head back. Momentum causes my body to follow suit. Slamming against the bar, I retaliate, attempting to bounce back and hit him in the face, when he grabs my arm and plants his fist into my stomach. Jolt forward, head buried in his chest, I puke on him. And me.

It happens.

"Sick!"

He grabs my head. Flying backwards my head meets the bar one, two, three times before he punches me in the face ag-

* * *

You ever wake up face first in a gutter? Face first in a puddle of your own blood? It's pretty sickening. Enough to make a man gag. Throw up, maybe, if I had anything left.

Getting up is a challenge. A test of my strength and faith. A fucking crucible. Everything hurts. I feel drained. Empty, almost. Like I could almost die or something. I need to get home.

* * *

After getting cleaned up and having a couple of drinks, I was ready to hit the town again. Examined myself in the mirror after washing up. Shiner. Right eye. Busted lip. Nose seems a bit crooked, and it really hurts. Especially when I touch it, which I can't resist doing for some sick masochistic reason.

Looking at myself kind of makes me feel sick, but whatever. I'll be fine.

* * *

Stepping out without the slightest idea what I might be getting myself into. Once again. How many bars can a person get kicked out of in this place? What is the cost of reentry? A different bartender? Another guy on shift to piss off.

Or maybe just an extra ten here or there? My question is; why am I going through the trouble? Drinking at home is less expensive, and there's no self-righteous asshole trying to tell you that you've had enough. Who the fuck is he to say when I've had enough?

My hands in my pockets. Eyes focused on my feet, and the steps they take down this cold gray sidewalk. Someone shouts "hey" but it goes ignored. Who knows who that person's talking to. He persists.

"Hey! Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

The voice gets closer. My pace gets faster. Ignore it.

"Sonic!"

He taps on my shoulder. I turn around to see a panting fox.

"I saw you across the street over there. Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

No, I tell him. Name's Maurice.

"You look an awful lot like him."

Sonic is a myth.

Turn back around and keep walking.

"Who gave you the black eye, Sonic?"

Fuck off.

People are such dicks.

* * *

Feline. Black hair. Standing in the middle of station square in a skirt in the middle of winter. There's no earthly way she isn't a prostitute. Fucking hot one, too. Black hair. Long tail. Bushy. Finally the walk light flashes, and I can make my way over to her.

Don't even have to say a word.

"Hey, baby. You want to party?"

How much?

"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

Nope. Name's Maurice.

"You look just like him"

Sonic's a myth.

"No he isn't. Why would you say that?"

He's a lie made up by the government. We stole this land from natives.

"That isn't true…"

Oh? And you were here during the conquering of Mobotropolis?

"And you were?"

Don't worry about it. How much?

"For what?"

Standard.

"Hundred"

Too much. Fifty?

"Seventy-five."

Fuck that.

Turn to walk off.

"Wait!"

Turn back to see her. She looks so hopeless. Scared even.

"Sixty?"

Alright. Sixty.

"Alright, give me the cash, and we'll find a room somewhere."

My house is right over there.

"That works. Money?"

Unzip my jacket, and reach into the inside pocket. Produce my wallet and open it. Fish out three twenties. Fork them over.

Footsteps. Oh shit.

It was too late.

"Freeze asshole! You are under arrest."

"Put your hands behind your back."

It was too late.

No.

Fuck that.

Without even thinking about it, my legs kick into action. Not even processing the situation, my shoulder's momentum knocks the whore on her ass on my way by. Running.

Knocking people out of my way in this crowded street. Shouts. Incoherent screams. Commands to stop resisting.

I can't go to jail. Not now.

Not ever.

Not looking where I'm going, I trip on an old lady, and land face first on the sidewalk. Within seconds, a hand is firmly grasping the back of my head, grinding it into the concrete. Telling me to put my hands behind my back. Telling me force will be used if necessary. A billy club meets my back, and I comply. The wind knocked out of me.

While the pig forcefully jerks me up, he starts reading me my rights and then he forces me into the back of the car.

How did I end up here?

* * *

I thought we were going to a party, I tell the guy.

Whatever he is.

The money was for alcohol, I tell the man.

"Save it, Sonic"

My name is Maurice, sir.

"Yeah, yeah. Were you aware there was already a warrant out for your arrest?"

No…

"Assault. Now you have soliciting prostitution on your belt, Sonic. On top of evading arrest. On top of assaulting an officer."

An officer? The old lady?

"The prostitute"

Because I knocked over the whore?!

"Police officer"

Oh fuck.

"I suggest you hire a really good lawyer, Sonic."

My name's Maurice.

He laughs, and diverts his attention to the road. Fucking dickhead.

* * *

Jail sucked. I don't want to talk about it.

Make my way over to the payphone. Search pockets for coins, then it occurs to me that they confiscated my money.

Fuck it. Pick up the phone. Call collect.

An aggravated female voice answers the phone.

"Hello?"

Hey..

"What do you want Sonic?"

Look, Sally I hate to bother you, but you know I would only do this if I was really in trouble and-

"Cut the shit, Sonic. What do you want?"

I'm in a bit of financial trouble.

"Money. You need money."

Yes, I tell her. Just an advanced payment. Just this once.

"I can't do it for you Sonic. In fact, I'm going to have to cut you off entirely."

What?! Why?

"You assaulted your girlfriend and a police officer! On top the prostitution thing, we can no longer endorse you, or give you any special breaks. Tax payers don't want their money to support that kind of thing."

Isn't there something you can do, Sally? I saved this place. You're only here because of me!

"No, Sonic. You're only here because of me, and now you've gone and fucked it all up. We could have had something, you stupid asshole!"

Click.

We can only hope to god that by next week she'll come around. We can only pray that this is menstrual.

* * *

"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

Oh, heavens no. I wouldn't want to be associated with him at a time like this. My name is Maurice.

"Good. Fill out an application, and come back in an hour for an interview."

A regular job. This is what I'm reduced to. A fucking commoner.

Sonic the hedgehog truly is a myth. An icon. A silly cartoon character.

A beacon for dollars. Endorsements. My name used to mean something. Now it means shit. Some asshole, who abuses people. Well, shit. Who would have thought it would have ended up like this? Not me, that's for sure. Not one bit. This is a complete shock to the system.

* * *

Filed for extension on payments. Got the job. Start tomorrow.

Looks like things might be turning around looks like they might be okay.

The salary is surprisingly sufficient. Working at a delivery service. Shipping company. How hard could it be?

Twist off the cap to the clear plastic bottle. Remove the built in pourer with my fingers, and toss it aside. Turn the bottle upside down. It's celebration time.

* * *

My morning started out the same as it always does. Get up. Make my way to the counter. The mess of bottles. Fuck a glass. Chug about four or five shots, and make my way to the bathroom. Urinate. Leave the door open; there's no need for privacy in complete isolation.

Take another few hits. Cough and make my way into the kitchen. Open the fridge, and look inside hungrily. Staring at the emptiness. Knowing there isn't anything there. Just staring longingly.

Close the door, and light a smoke. Take another drink before hitting the streets. On the way to work, the only thing I can think about, is how much I really don't want to go to work. Feels kind of like there's a storm on the horizon, and here I am, walking right into the center of all of it.

Waiting at the bus stop. Use the cherry of the cigarette in my mouth to light another cigarette. The girl next to me is obnoxiously fake coughing.'

"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?" she asks, with a hint of disgust in her voice.

No, I say. Aren't you that whore? That one that charges for pennies on the dollar?

She reacts with some grunting noise I can't even begin to replicate. She stands. "How rude!" she says, as she starts quickly walking away.

Sorry, miss. My mistake. She was pretty, I say. Should have known.

Before I know it, I'm hitting filter, burning a hole in the fingers of my gloves, and the bus is stopping right in front of me. Flick the burning filter and get on.

* * *

The bus smelled like pee. I'm just personally glad to be off the fucking thing, you know? Walk about two blocks until finally coming face to face with the large UPZ building. A huge tin shed, standing pretty tall before me.

Standing outside of the building, trying to fight off a sense of dread. This is your new life now, Maurice. Get used to it. Light a smoke, and sit down on the curb. Might as well enjoy a smoke or two while I can. It won't be long before my freedoms are stripped entirely.

* * *

"You're late"

I am? Sorry about that. My girlfriend sets the clocks all wrong and shit.

"If it happens again, you're fired. Follow me this way."

He leads me into this huge dim garage. A large conveyer belt shaped like a C, mouth facing towards us. On the other side of it sit the ass end of about seven trucks. He tells me that they all go out to different parts of Mobotropolis to deliver these packages.

It's fucking hot in here.

There are guys picking packages off the conveyer belt and putting them in the backs of trucks. I ask if that's what I'm going to be doing. He says no. Their job is to grab the boxes with addresses that go into their specific truck's route. But it isn't easy. It's incredibly easy to miss a package with your address on it, so my job consists of picking up the reruns, and taking back to the starting point.

He shows me the cart, and the end to start. I just have to run the packages from one end of the giant C to the other. That doesn't sound so hard.

* * *

The boss is yelling at me at the amount of reruns stacked up as I make my way back to the end of the belt, huffing and sweating. Pushing along the empty, heavy as fuck steel cart. He tells me to get off my ass, and I just nod and stop the cart right at the end of the belt, side ways. He leaves. Fucking asshole.

First box weighs a shit load. Barely manage to pick it up and drop it on the cart. Looks like this one's going to Station Square. A couple other miscellaneous ones. About three or four more heavy Station Square ones. Looks like this guy's been shopping. The last one is really little, but extremely heavy for some reason. Like someone's shipping a lead block.

Throw it on top of the others, and run the cart to the other end of the belt. My whole body is soaked with sweat at this point. I feel sick to my stomach. Unload the boxes, and light a smoke. Slowly push the cart back to the other end of the C, and position the cart. Lean against the belt and enjoy the smoke for a few minutes. Someone tells me I'm not supposed to be smoking in here, and I tell them to eat shit. Put it out with my shoe, and turn around. The same Station Square packages sit behind me. All the heaviest ones.

Fuck.

Load them onto the cart, my arms feeling about ready to fall off, and force the cart back to the other side. This is my job. This time, I watch them circle around. Watch that fucking Station Square guy just fucking stand there with his hands stuffed into his armpits.

Light a cigarette, and make my way around the conveyer belt. Something needs to be said to this asshole. Approaching him, I tap him on the shoulder. Hey, I say. What's your name?

He tells me his name is Joe.

Say, listen Joe. I've seen your reruns come through three times now. I'm not trying to make your job harder on you, don't try and make mine harder on me.

He tells me he doesn't know what I'm talking about. This guy. This fucking guy.

I tell him to just please pick up the heavies. He's killing me here.

He agrees. I take my leave. Get back to the reruns. Three more times, the reruns are still fucking there.

Imagine this, if you will, for it is the best analogy that I have come up with. Imagine you have an ass load of kids... Like maybe six or seven, right? You hate these wretched little bastards, and they have caused you nothing but pain through the duration of their existence. You take them to some shitty retail store, and just leave them in the parking lot, all the while you are praying some rapist or sick fuck kidnaps these little shits, not caring where they go or what happens to them, you just want them out of your life. Still following? Later, when you are at you're house, and you have almost forgotten about them, your doorbell rings. Every single one of those goddamn kids just show up at your door! Imagine trying this seven or eight times a day, and you might feel something like I do.

Ugh. This is fucking bullshit.

So I made my way back around the conveyer belt. Walking right up to Joe, I tap him on the shoulder.

"What the fuck to you want?"

That's when my fist meets his mouth. He falls, and I jump on top of him. Fists hailing down on his face repetitively. Hands grabbing me. Prying me off.

I already know I've been fired.

Yep, it looks about time I filed for welfare.

* * *

The welfare system is all types of bullshit. You have to be looking for a job, and you need proof. This is why when the burger place calls me back, offering a job, I tell him I found it elsewhere. You can only stay on welfare for so long, too. But you stand in line long enough, and you get your check. That takes care of rent. Managed to sell the Tv for a pretty good price. That takes care of alcohol. Food stamps take care of food.

Life is good, you know? Despite all the bullshit.

But an immense amount of bullshit is dealt with during this time of year, being Christmas. This is the worst time of the year. Easily. Every year it's the same. Every year it gets worse. Christmas jingles, over and over again. Old as time. Heard them growing up, and they'll never go away. You can't escape. Radio. Tv. Playing on loudspeakers across the city. Fucking Christmas carolers. I hate Christmas carolers with a passion.

Everything gets more expensive. 'Tis the season, right? The season to rip people off because they know it's gift giving season. People piss me off in general. If only I could sustain life and intoxication on my own, putting up with this asinine bullshit at all. But I can't.

Christmas day. Spending it with my friend Jack.

Uncap the bottle and try to fill the hole with the contents.

Sleep, if nothing else might.

* * *

A new year came without my knowledge. Haven't left the place in a while. A new year, I thought. What's my resolution?

The first thing that comes to mind? Legs. Female. Amy's.

But no. Amy won't have me. That's nothing more than a jerk-off fantasy again. Strangely enough, it is just that. For the first time in a long time. But at the same time, it's almost like it never happened. It all seems so far away.

It's still cold outside. The calendar on the wall still says it's December. I wonder how much longer winter is going to last, having no earthly idea what time of hear it is. Having been living in a fog for so long. Looking out the window, it's almost like a wake up call or something. A moment of clarity. I don't know. It's weird. Can't be explained.

What can be explained, though, is the fact that I'm motivated to go out and do something for the first time in a long time.

* * *

You come here often?

"That's an awful standard ice breaker, don't you think?"

I'm not really any good at this.

"Not really any good at what?"

Picking up girls, I say.

She laughs. She orders two drinks.

"I can't have sex with you."

What?

"I said I can't have sex with you"

Ouch, I say.

"Don't take it hard, kid. Just can't."

I understand, I say.

Fucking bitch.

Two drinks arrive, and one slides my way.

"No hard feelings" she says.

No, I say. No hard feelings at all.

Down the contents of the glass. Set down the empty cup.

"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

No, I tell her. I get that a lot, though.

It takes her a few minutes to finish her drink, and I ask her if she wants another one. Order two more.

She says she can't have sex with me. But I'd like to see where this night takes us.

* * *

"So this is where the famous Sonic the hedgehog hangs his hat?"

I'm not Sonic.

She giggles.

I ask if she would like another drink.

"No, I'm okay for now"

Tell her, just one more. To make me feel better about having one. She relents.

Mix her drink with something special. Bring it back to her, and she sips it. Getting close to her, I ask how old she is.

"Don't you know it isn't polite to ask a woman's age?"

She sips her drink. We laugh. Move in closer.

Her scent wafting up my nostrils. My head leans in closer. Her mouth open, breathing hot on my face. Our lips meet. And she weakly pushes me away. I comply.

"I can't have sex with you" she says "I just can't"

I ask why not.

She can't think. She drops the glass, spilling alcohol all over herself. Grabbing the cup, and scooping up all the ice. She squirms a little while before passing out.

Put it on the floor next to her, and start to remove her clothes.

This will all be over soon.


	4. Spring

She was gone when I woke up. It's almost as if she was never here. Like it might not have ever really happened. A dream, maybe. A delusion.

A fantasy.

* * *

**Spring**

* * *

A time for change. Time to begin again; to bloom.

Rebirth.

For the first time in ages, I feel okay.

Refreshed. Recharged.

Alive.

Spring forward. A new beginning. For real this time.

The events that took place last night woke me up. How pathetic I truly was. Her absence says it was all a dream. Or is that me? Wishful thinking, perhaps? Let's hope so. Flashes come back to me in sets. Random stills. Me on top of the poor girl. Her eyes white and her body limp. The look on her face is far from anything attractive. Pained faces her sleep. In mine.

A dream.

Staring into her dead eyes.

That's what it was.

Fucking her without condom or quarter. Looking down at her helpless form. Hating myself more with each thrust. Each thrust getting harder. Faster. More intense. On top of her drooling limp form. Screaming louder with each thrust. Was this me taking out my hatred for myself on an innocent?

The pull out method. Cum, then clean her up. But Why would I clean her up in a dream? That's all it was.

A sick, pathetic fantasy.

Symbolism, I think. But what does it mean?

Amy comes to mind. I need a drink.

While pouring the whiskey, it occurs to me that maybe that's just what I did. Took out all my self hatred on Amy. Hurt her emotionally and physically because of the hatred I had for myself.

An epiphany? Is that what they call these things?

It was all me. It was all my fault and this makes me feel worse. How could I have been so stupid? So selfish? Could it not be seen that what I was doing was hurting more than helping? Just making the situation worse? The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one, they always say. The problem is that I'm so stubborn, I refuse to acknowledge that something might be wrong with me. Even after figuring it out, will it stick? Can I put my life together? Rebuild?

Maybe. But maybe not.

The odds are against me. Me being inexperienced and stupid. Learning things only too late to correct them. Is it too late? Too late for change? The life I've grown accustomed to is all I really know how to do. Where, in life, is there room for someone like that?

Jail? Maybe. Probably.

I'm scared. Scared of life. Frightened that things won't work out. Especially if I work hard. If I quit, you couldn't call that failure, could you? Maybe that's what I'm more afraid of. Failure.

Afraid of being just as useless as I believe myself to be. It's a scary thought.

What have I become? Have we passed the point of no return?

I hope not.

* * *

Pouring out the contents of the final bottle of whiskey into the sink. Watching it flow into the drain intently.

I can't help but start crying.

* * *

I wrote her a letter. A letter explaining how I felt about everything wrong I had done. How sorry I am. How it would never happen again if I was ever lucky enough to get a second chance. How I've changed forever, and how if I could just be friends with her I would be more lucky than anyone on the face of this planet. It said something about how I thought about her every night. Her face. Her smile. I think about all the times we had, but more often than that, I picture the times we could have had. The times that we squandered. I think about out how everything we built up to was a waste. Months and months of blaming her for the things that I hate about myself. In the letter, I say something about how if I could take it all back and erase it all just to make those chapters in your life happy ones, that I would. I'd do anything to achieve it. I wrote about how I never knew what love was until she had entered my life. Even when she was too young, I was in love. I couldn't admit it, so I tried to convince myself I wasn't. Wrote about how I knew it even then. Wrote about how I always knew it, and I know it now more than ever. I wrote about how everything was my fault. Wrote about how she always had a home here. About how she will always be missed. A four page letter of memories, dreams and claims. Four pages of my heart nonsensically pouring out; bleeding. Four pages of me at my most vulnerable. Four pages of tear stained begging for my sweet Amy to come home. Four pages, filled front and back. Folded up and stuffed into an envelope. Stamped, with the name Amy Rose on the front. Sealed and addressed to her parent's house.

I wrote this letter, but it never got mailed. It just sits in my inside jacket pocket.

Oh well. It probably would have gotten torn up anyway.

* * *

"_please deposit seventy-five cents"_

A recording. The phone is cradled between my head and shoulder. Digging the coins out of my pocket with my left hand. Count out three quarters. The change is all here. All that needs to be done is the transaction, and the call can be made. But am I ready for it?

Sigh. Look down at the palm of my hand, which I shuffle the coins around in.

Got rid of my phone a long time ago. Didn't need to be paying the extra bills. Didn't have anyone to talk to. Even if I did have a phone, she wouldn't answer. Would probably recognize the number. I would not blame her. But a payphone could be anybody, so the chances of her answering are higher. Don't even know if she has caller ID, but whatever. Doesn't matter. None of this matters.

Lifting the coin up to its slot, I pause again. Thinking of her face. Not the beautiful one that loved me. The one that resented me. The one that hates me. The one that wants me gone for good.

A knock on the glass. Someone's knocking on the door to the phone booth. Asking if I'm going to make that call. Good question, nameless dingo. Am I?

Looks like the answer is no. Pocket the coins and open the door.

Sorry about that, I tell him.

"It's fine" he says. "Say! Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

Stop. Look at him. He looks intrigued, maybe. I don't know. Never could read folks well. But his look makes me think.

Yeah, I tell him. Sadly enough, I'm Sonic the hedgehog.

Or what's left of him, anyway.

Then I walk away.

* * *

He looks at me and sighs. An orange and white fox. He looks familiar.

"What?"

Sit down at the closest stool to him in front of the bar. This guy has kicked me out a few of times before. Nothing permanent. He just thinks I drink too much. Tells me it's time to stop all the time. Time to go home. No more. I'm cutting you off, he would say. Get out of here.

Water, I tell him. Glass of water.

"Starting off light today, are we?"

Nah. We're not starting.

"What do you mean?"

Quit drinking, I say.

Fish out the pack of cigarettes from my jacket pocket. Stuff one in the corner of my mouth. The glass is set in front of me.

"You quit drinking?"

Mhmm..

Light the cigarette, and stuff the ret plactic lighter pack into the almost empty pack. Close it.

"You?"

Yep.

Put the pack back into my jacket. Breathe in deep. Exhale ash into a cloud that scatters in the air between us. Diffuses.

"Than why the fuck did you come to a bar?"

I don't know, I say. Because I can smoke here?

"Not after today, pal."

What? What's this nonsense?

"The bill to ban smoking in bars and parks has been passed. It's a law now. Got the notice today."

Fuck, man. No shit?

"No shit."

That's bullshit.

"I'm just as pissed as you are."

You smoke?

"Yeah."

You want one?

"Sure. Why not?"

Hand a single cigarette and the plastic red lighter. He lights it and hands the lighter back. Leaning back and exhaling a plume of smoke into my face, he breaks the silence again.

"Aren't you Sonic the hedgehog?"

You've asked me this before, I say.

He nods, the cherry glowing bright on the end of his cigarette. The glow fades slightly and expels more smoke when he's done breathing it in.

So you know?

He smiles and winks at me. A sense of déjà vu washes over me.

Than why ask?

"I just want to hear you say it."

Alright. Fine. I'm Sonic the hedgehog. Satisfied?

"You still don't recognize me."

Of course I do. You're the bartender.

He gets a kick out of this. Starts laughing immediately. First with an almost girlish giggle, that slowly grows into a robotic sounding cackle. Really familiar laugh. Laugh's like…

Tails?

"What do you think?"

I can feel a grin spreading across my face.

Well, I think you are Tails, but I can't be sure because you don't talk like a little girl.

"You're still a shithead, Sonic. You know that?"

Only all too well. Why are you working at a bar, you little fucking genius, you?

"Sally and I had some altercations. She wanted me to do something I deemed completely unnecessary. An accident waiting to happen."

What happened?

"Wouldn't build a certain type of biological weapon for her, so I was removed from payroll."

A weapon? For what?

"That's what I said. Her only answer was 'just in case…'"

Wow. What else have you been up to?

"Married Cream."

Oh yeah? That's good.

"You remember Amy?"

He has my attention.

I ask why.

"She moved in with us recently. Sleeps on my couch now. It's weird. Called Cream out of the blue asking for a place to stay. Said her parents kicked her out. Wouldn't say why."

Yeah, I say. That is weird.

"How about you, Sonic. What have you been up to?"

Nothing, I tell him. A whole lot of nothing.

He tells me no hard feelings, but he has to kick me out. The seats are for paying customers, he says. I tell him that's fine. I understand. Start to leave, when he asks me if I'm sure I don't want another drink. Tell him I'm positive.

Handed him the letter. Not sure if I told him to give it to Amy or throw it away. I can't remember. Definitely asked him not to read it, though.

* * *

Back at my apartment, there isn't anything to do. Nothing at all. Used to come home from the bars and drink. Drink until passing out. Now I have to think. Reflection.

It's depressing. But as of late, it hasn't been so bad. I've started to like myself again. Maybe things will be okay. I mean, I did it. I quit drinking. Cold turkey. There's a reason it wasn't mentioned earlier. I don't want to talk a lot of shit. Most people talk about doing shit forever and never get it done. I wanted action.

I made it happen. Plain and simple. It can't be easier said than done, if it isn't said at all. No bullshit.

Didn't do it for my health. I only did it to prove to myself I could. To prove to myself that I'm not as worthless as I had believed. I did it for me. Me alone.

I feel better. About myself, at least. Would sure as fuck like a drink right now, though. Or a fucking television. Something to entertain me. Maybe I'll go pick a random book off the shelf of a bookstore or something.

Anything to entertain me while I wait to get tired. Practically living for sleep. In my dreams she still loves me. Eyes closed, laying face down on my bed. Awaiting her.

Suddenly, I feel myself slipping…

* * *

Knock.

A knocking sound. Getting louder.

Like someone's knocking on my door. But who would do that? Who would come here?

Push myself to my hands and knees. Everything's blurry. How long was I out? The clock is still wrong. It always was. I haven't known the time in years. Time is completely fucking useless to me.

Crawling off my bed, I make my way to the living room. Three more knocks and I'm at the door. Without looking to see who it is, I open it.

"Sonic?"

Is this real?

Amy?

She looks like she's about to cry. Sniffing, she wipes her nose.

"I thought you didn't love me anymore.."

Is this a dream?

She covers her face with her hands, and a sob breaks loose from her.

Is this a fantasy? Like all of the others?

Take a step closer to her. Reach out. If she isn't real, than I won't be able to feel her, but I do. I feel her.

And we embrace. Or, I embrace her, at least.

She just stands there and cries.

* * *

Popping open a brand new bottle of wine, she asks where the glasses are.

I quit, I tell her.

"What?"

I quit drinking.

"Why?"

For myself. And you. Kinda.

"Oh. Well… will you have just one with me? For celebration?"

Stop. Think about this. Should I? The sole purpose for getting my life back together is currently offering me a drink. I honestly can't currently see the harm.

Why not? I'll get the glasses.

Grab the wine glasses from the top cupboard, and make my way over to the table. Setting them down, she pours us both a drink. After a toast to us, we drain our glasses and kiss. After another couple of glasses, she's unzipping my pants, and burying her face in my lap.

It's hard to believe this is real.

* * *

My eyes are open before I even realize I'm awake. My head hurts. My body aches. Itching and burning sensations.

Immediately look at the bed next to me. Empty. A dream?

It's hard deciphering what's real and what isn't these days. What if I'm already dead? What if none of this is real? The brain has seven minutes of brain activity before it shuts down. What if this is my seven minutes?

Can you feel in your head? Can your brain send signals of pain and feeling? I'm sweating but my body's cold. My crotch itches like mad. Reach down do scratch it and it burns like fire.

What the fuck is happening to me?

Look down at my genitals only to see-

oh fuck.

Open sores.

* * *

Suddenly the door opens. She walks in carrying a suitcase.

"Hey!"

What the fuck are you doing in here?

"What?"

You know what you've done.

"What? What have I done?"

Herpes, Amy?! _Herpes?_

"What?!"

How the fuck do you do that? Where the fuck did you get it from?!

"Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me you have fucking herpes?"

Yes! You gave them to me you numb cunt!

"I don't fucking have herpes!"

Than what are these blisters on my cock, Amy? Where the fuck did they come from? The only place it's been was in your fucking mouth! Where the fuck did they come from?!

"You stupid bastard. You stupid fucking asshole."

What?

"You mother FUCKER!"

She starts hitting me and I have to push her off me.

"Sores take four to seven days to show up you dumb dick!"

Oh god. That wasn't a dream. It _was_ me. It was all my fault. That girl said she _couldn't_ have sex with me, I should have taken the fucking hint! Jesus Christ, how could I be so fucking stupid?

This is your wake up call.

"I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE YOU!!"

She's all over my nuts again, hitting me and kicking me. This means it was all real. This means that I'm just as fucking pathetic as I thought I was. This means I can never change.

Think of it this way, I say. Now that we both have it we might as well be together forever.

"I'm going to fucking kill you, Sonic!"

She dives into the kitchen, and rips a drawer open. She grabs the biggest fucking knife she can and starts waving it around, running at me.

Oh shit.

What the fuck do I do now?

* * *

_Sorry, guys. I'm really pissed off at myself about this one. The ending is a work in progress. Expect more. (though I understand if you quit reading now, due to the badly written and rushed nature of this chapter)_


	5. Spring fever

Time to react. Now or never. My body acts on its own volition, as my right hand grabs her left wrist. My left arm snakes around her arm, and grasps my right forearm. Twisting her arm, she drops the knife. Disarm. My foot shows her where the ground is. My hand snatches the knife while she's on the ground, confused. The knife penetrates her skin. She screams, but she did this to herself. Bury the knife deep in her stomach. Rip it out awkwardly. Blood sprays across my face. She knees me in the chin and I fall back. Watching her writhe around in her own blood, it brings me back to where I started.

How did I get here?

* * *

I've purchased the gun. Bought the bullets. Loaded the fucker. Cocked it. Even now, while writing this sentence, the barrel rests in my left hand, nuzzled firmly against the bottom of my head, under the jaw.

All that's left is to pull the trigger.

So...


	6. THE

▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓  
Lights. Rushing passed me. Bright ones. They're screaming at me. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY, MR. HEDGEHOG!" they say "YOU'VE BEEN IN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!" I'm on my back and we're rushing down some white hallway, and I don't know where I am. I don't know what I am. I can't think. My brain doesn't seem to want to function. It isn't working properly, but I can't remember how it worked before, I just know it's different. Annnnnnnnnnd tthat it hurts. Immensely. It's almostlikeit'salmostlike it's skipping. everything. The light gets brighter. ⌠WE'RE GOING TO SAVE YOU MR. HEDGEHOG!■ they say ⌠YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY■ and it doesn't make a difference, because I've heard that one before/ /■Sonic?■ he says. I wonder who that is./ /■Are you okay?■ ⌠Is he breathing?■ ⌠Check his pulse.■ ⌠He doesn't seem to be breathing.■ ⌠Check his fucking pulse!■ /  
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓


	7. fghnfgnh

/ I'm going to be sick. I'm chewing on glass. You've never felt pain this unreal/

⌠MR. HEDGEHOG!■

/staring back at my reflection, I punch myself right in the face. My whole being shatters and I consume the pieces/

⌠TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!■

/I don't like the way I'm looking at me/ /puking up blood and glass. one of the bigger shards makes its way down my arm lengthwise to finish the job/ did i do that?


	8. fn fnhdfnh

/■ "MR. HEDGEHOG! YOU'VE BEEN IN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT!" stop "MR. HEDGEHOG! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" more rushing lights. don't bring me back here. when does it all end?/


	9. gfffttt

/jump out the window. break my legs. should have gone head first. bits of glass caught in my throat. bone sticking through the skin on my legs. coughing up blood and puke. something please. end this now/ 


	10. 0vvdft

/i jump in front of a train/hang myself from a ceiling fixture/stick my head in the oven/set myself on fire/stab my stomach until small intestine is exposed. wrap it around my neck and strangle myself with it/.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ./i feel everything/ 


	11. rfffffffffkkpz

/⌠ "YOU'RE GOING TO BE OKAY, MR HEDGEHOG!" ■ /


	12. b69329

... . ... ... ... ... ... ... ... . . .. . . . .. . . . ... ... ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... .. .. . . . . .. ... .. .. ... ... . ... ... ... ... ... . . . .. . . . . . . .. . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... . .. . . . . .. .


	13. pckjhbe

▒ 'you're going to be alright...' ┘┘▓


	14. vtg776

There she is, on a hill..  
I can feel her presence.

Her heartbeat syncs with mine as our eyes lock.


	15. qfdpjx

_time has stopped forever._


	16. DHBjhb

/I'm in a tub of sorts, and I'm on my back. Completely submerged. I can't breathe. A beeping sound. Slow and steady. And it's speeding up, with my heart rate. And I can't breathe. The water is thick. Thicker than it should be. Red clouding my vision, it's not just me. Or is it? The beeping is getting louder. Faster. I can't breathe. The scary thing is; I don't need to. Why's everything so dark? I don't know where I am. It just hit me for the first time; I don't know where the fuck I am. My body aches. Every muscle, every bone. But I can't move it. I can't fucking move. My body isn't mine anymore; I'm not a part of it. Oh fuck. Am I still alive?/


	17. end?

/There are a million little bugs surrounding me, and I don't like them because they are ugly. They make me sick, and I don't want to touch them, but they keep coming at me like they want me or something, and I don't want them, and I don't want them TO FUCKING TOUCH ME but they keep coming and coming, and they get closer and closer and closer and closer MAKE IT STOP they keep coming until they're crawling up my legs, and my skin is crawling and itching but I can't SCRATCH IT it just gets worse and worse and worse and worse and I FUCKING HATE THIS I WANT THEM TO DIE but they won't die, and suddenly I can move again, but it's too late as I try to swat them off and crush them all there are TOO MANY OF THEM AND THEY ARE OVERWHELIMG ME, I keep screaming and screaming, but no one can hear me crying, not even me and I just want this to stop, but it won't I can already feel the spiders biting into me, my legs burning with pain, and screaming from the disgusting feeling of the insect legs buffaloing up my body, and invading every orifice I have, and I can't breathe and everything is going black, and I don't like the darkness because it scares me more the insects I CAN'T FUCKING BREATHE but I'm not sure I could from the start MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT FUCKING STOP! I d o n twanttofucking feelanymo reij ustwant todiebu tt he scarythingisthef ac tthatic ouldalready be d e a d. . . . . . . . ./

i s t h i s d e a t h ?

i s t h i s h e l l ?


End file.
